


Get Things Done

by taormina



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Voyeurism, boring office meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 07:42:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5197820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taormina/pseuds/taormina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James has come up with a way to make Q’s boring boardroom meetings at MI6 a whole lot more interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Things Done

Last week, Q nearly invented a car that could fly. Yesterday, he created a £10,000 watch that could tell lies as well as the time. He was doing work that he felt was of extreme importance in the grand scale of international intelligence and security, and he extremely was proud of it, too: who else could say that they’d dismantled a bomb using only a hairpin? Who else was doing this type of work at Q’s level?

No-one, that’s who.

But today was different. Everyone else was off carrying out important missions, some in exotic countries, and M had decided that Q be put in the top secret Committee for the Renovation of Facilities, Intelligence, and Resources.

Sounds rather important, does it not? Q himself certainly thought so; he had even purchased a new sweater for it and given his cats a special treat to celebrate the occasion. This _could_ be the next big step in his rising career trajectory in the exciting world of espionage.

Unfortunately, it was far from the crucial task M was making it out to be: Q had woken up at six in the morning to sit a meeting about coffee machines.

Yes, really; _coffee machines_. The young man was the head of Q branch, and he was tasked to fix his colleagues’ caffeine deficiencies. Apparently being good at fixing and inventing exploding watches made him competent at fixing everything else that bleeped, i.e. coffee machines and, in fact, M’s personal espresso machine.

Q didn’t even like coffee.

There had to be a reason for this, surely? Was there not someone else equally equipped to be on the Committee so Q could continue doing his thing on his laptop?

The pieces of the puzzle soon found their place in M’s office one morning. It was that little nod of M’s that said it all, really: it must’ve been payback for that time when Q ‘accidentally’ helped Bond disappear off the face of the Earth. _Must’ve_ been. Then again, it could have been payback for when he and Bond accidentally broke M’s car. Or . . . when Q made a pen explode in the middle of MI6. That was rather messy. The reasons were aplenty, now that Q thought about it.

Bond burst out laughing when Q told him about it. (That man felt no empathy, honestly.) Then a mischievous cloud passed over his face, and Bond said he might have something that would make Qs first meeting with the Committee for the Renovation of Facilities, Intelligence, and Resources a little less tedious.

Q didn’t understand what he meant until they met up that morning, right before the first meeting.

He’d almost said no. He _should_ have.

But it was worth it for the thrill.

Q never did things for the thrill of them. He completed his tasks because he could, and because he had to. He got off from seeing his blueprints and sketches turn into real products with real-life uses. Things got done on time because nothing scared him more than feeling under pressure. But this thing with James that they were in the middle of experimenting with? Now _that_ was exciting. It wasn’t just about the end result anymore, it was about how they were going to get there.

James was doing an excellent job at getting him there.

The Committee was meeting up at eleven, sharp. Q exhaled in relief when he saw that he was the first to arrive in the boardroom, and he took an extra amount of time to make sure that his fellow members of the Committee wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary about him. Thankfully, the chairs were made of extremely soft and expensive material. The large, rectangular desk in the middle of the boardroom would do an excellent job at hiding things that might need hiding later on. When he looked at his mirrored self in the reflection of a large glass cabinet, he couldn’t see his earpiece.

He sat, and waited.

_‘Sitting comfortably?’_

Q started. He still wasn’t used to hearing Bond in his ear via an earpiece.

‘I do hope you know what you’re doing, 007,’ Q said, his voice a mix of excitement and apprehension. An ignorant onlooker would have thought he was speaking to himself.

_‘The Head of the Committee is coming. Get that smirk off your face.’_

(Q couldn’t see Bond, but Bond could see him. From every single angle, in every single room. He’d hacked quite a few security cameras for that. God knows what else he might potentially witness on Q’s stickered laptop today.)

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, 007. Unlike you I never have a smirk on my face,’ Q argued, but he pressed his lips together anyway and tried to look as solemn as possible when the Head of the Committee entered the boardroom. His heart was beating fast, but not because of the presence of such an important woman. She was older than most people he worked with, and looked like the type of person who would absolutely approve of what Q and Bond were up to.

Q stood up and shook the lady’s hand. She accepted it disinterestedly. She seemed unimpressed Q’s his new sweater. ‘It’s so nice to meet you,’ – Bond quickly told him her name – ‘Mrs. Hart. Such a pleasure.’

_‘Don’t overdo it, Q. She clearly hates your sweater.’_

‘I take it you’re the expert in technology on this case?’ she said, with the air of someone who would rather be somewhere else.

Q nodded. ‘Indeed. I’m an expert in coffee machines even though I much prefer tea.’ When he saw Hart struggle with his sarcasm, he went on undisturbed, ‘I’m sure M was hoping that my experience with the invention of weapons and other, shall we say, gadgets might give the Committee a breath of fresh air. Not that I wish to turn coffee machines into weapons, of course.’ He laughed nervously when he saw Hart raise an appreciative eyebrow.

 _‘Don’t give her any ideas, Q. I still remember what you did to my tea kettle.’_ Q discreetly touched his hidden earpiece. _‘I like what you’re wearing, by the way. Maybe next time we should do this experiment naked.’_

Hart eyed Q suspiciously when he made a cleverly disguised yelp. Thankfully the three remaining members of the Committee entered the room before she could ask any questions, and Q went over to greet them.

There were probably a dozen regulations about this. It’s something you don’t do in this branch of work.

But he and Bond did.

Q was the inventor of the two. He was always busy slaving away at new ways to improve MI6 technology, make it more sufficient. It was up to Bond to go in guns blazing – literally – and see if Q’s inventions were up to scratch. Usually, they were. Sometimes, Bond would tell Q that his new gun, car, exploding pen or cigarette case was shit, and left it up to the Quartermaster to figure out what was wrong with them. Most of the times, Q did.

So why _had_ Bond been the one to suggest they use toys to spice up their sex life?

The other members of the Committee were just as boring as Hart: elderly, traditional. Unlikely to have ever spent a single day in the field.

Q could feel himself doze off already. When he looked at his watch, it was a minute to eleven.

‘Shall we get started, then?’ Q said, fake enthusiasm radiating off of him. He wished Bond would press the damn button already and put him out of his misery.

 _‘Don’t be so impatient,’_ said Bond, who’d spotted Q’s miserable glance at one of the hidden cameras, _‘we don’t even know for sure if this thing works or not.’_

‘It hope for your sake that it does,’ Q whispered, forgetting for a moment that his colleagues didn’t know he had an earpiece in. Judging by his colleagues’ faces, he hadn’t spoken as softly as he thought.

‘I’m sorry?’ said Hart. She was looking positively sceptical now.

 _‘You are a tragedy,’_ sighed Bond.Then, _‘Show them your papers. They’ve got pictures on them, they’ll_ love _it.’_

‘Right.’ Q half-turned to the papers he had carefully laid out on the desk so that his colleagues wouldn’t see that he had turned red. They were designs that he had worked on in the past few weeks.

_‘I like it when you’re flustered.’_

‘I’m,’ – Q awkwardly scratched the back of his head – ‘I’m so sorry for my absence, it’s just, oh, I have so many ideas that I wish to share with you all,’ he said, followed by a fake, quasi-nervous smile. He handed each member of the Committee a thin folder with blueprints and sketches so he’d have to do as little talking as necessary. ‘I suppose we best get started if we want to get through them all, don’t you?’

‘Is one of them a lethal coffee machine?’ A slightly younger man called Collins asked before they all sat down and got stuck in.

_‘I hate every single person in that room.’_

Q wished he could tell Bond that he agreed with him.

Unfortunately, even MI6 couldn’t escape the tediousness of boardroom meetings. Despite Q having genuinely put a lot of work into his designs, the other members of the Committee were all looking at him as if he were the most uninteresting person on Earth. He might as well have been, that day.

Q had been in the boardroom for well over fifteen minutes when he realised that Bond hadn’t made a single remark, cynical or otherwise. It made him lose focus.

He touched his earpiece and quickly lowered his hand when Hart looked at him suspiciously and said something that sounded scathing. It was a comment about how Q needed to come to the table with something better, something less amateurish, and only a few seconds after Hart had closed her mouth did Q understand what she was saying. He’d stopped listening to her only minutes into the meeting.

Q was halfway through a lie about a new app that he’d designed when his body tensed.

A warm buzz spread through his arsecheeks and shot to an area of his body that he shouldn’t even be thinking about.

But he was, and he instantly moved his hand to his crotch underneath the table.

A single squeeze was not enough to take the pressure off.

The members of the Committee hardly even noticed Q shuffling in his seat. If they did, they might think he had an itch somewhere or that his back was hurting from the chair he was sitting on.

But Bond knew better.

Hart’ voice slowly came back into focus: ‘. . . do you think of implementing the app, say, effective immediately?’

_‘How does the toy feel, Q? Good?’_

Q nodded. ‘Amazing, yeah.’ It came out a little strangled, so cleared his throat and took a deep breath. ‘I mean, I think that would be an excellent idea, Hart, Madam.’

He had to press his lips together when the toy pulsed against a sensitive spot inside of him. It felt utterly strange to feel so blissfully tortured in a room full of people whom he didn’t know. It felt good, _secret_ , like exchanging paper messages in Double Physics without the teacher knowing.

The members of the Committee looked at Q a bit strangely, but they went on discussing the app anyway. Bond decided to talk over them until all that Q could hear was the aroused rise and fall of Bond’s voice inside his ear. _‘I bet you’re dying to leave and jerk off. Aren’t you, Q?’_

Q nodded when Collins said something disagreeable. He was feeling warm. So warm. When he wiped the hair off his forehead, he felt beads of sweat against his fingers. His legs were trembling. He’d never been more desperate for Bond’s touch.

 _‘I’m not letting you,’_ Bond growled, _‘Not until you’ve shown me how desperate you are. Do you hear me?’_

Q nodded again. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. Only Bond could hear the pure _need_ that was obvious in Q’s voice.

Just as another member of the Committee was about to make a remark, the toy stopped buzzing.

Q’s exhale of relief turned into a whimper when Bond turned it back on with a flick of a switch. He could hear Bond tut in his ear.

‘Q, are you all right?’ the fourth member of the Committee asked. ‘You are bright red.’

No one could hear the toy, that’s how Q had designed it — but Q could feel it sending shockwave after shockwave of pulsating pleasure against his prostate until his cock was so hard that he might actually come inside his trousers unassisted. _That’s_ how good it felt.

Bond had devised this game to make life a bit more exciting, a bit more adventurous, and Q was losing badly. He couldn’t even remember having made the toy when Bond showed up with it that morning.

Q bit his lip. Every time he moved, the toy’s vibrations felt that little bit better.

_‘You’re about to come already, aren’t you?’ Bond purred. ‘Tell me how much you want it.’_

‘Q, if you think this Committee is beneath you, you may want to consider who put you on it,’ the man spat at him. ‘Do you even want to be here?’

Q nodded. ‘Yes. So badly.’ He wasn’t talking to the Committee.

 _‘Say ‘please’_.’

‘Please, Sir,’ – Bond hummed appreciatively; a sign that Q had permission to leave – ‘Believe me when I say that I want nothing more,’ Q pushed his chair from the table and stood up (it sent another rush of pleasure through him so he discreetly pulled down his sweater), ‘but you’ll have to excuse me, Sirs, Madam. I won’t be a moment.’

With that, Q hastened himself out of the boardroom. He felt like a child climbing out of his bedroom window in the middle of the night.

‘This is the easily most awful thing you’ve ever made me do,’ Q whispered once he was in a long, grey corridor. His eyes flicked left and right, half-expecting M or someone else to show up at any moment and carry him back into the boardroom. The toy was turned off. For now. ‘And I’ve never been more aroused. Where do I go?’

Bond chuckled. The tingle it left in Q’s ear was not unlike the tingle he was experiencing elsewhere. _‘There’s a restroom on your right. Enter one of the stalls.’_

‘If I get caught I’m going to be very cross with you, 007,’ Q said before doing what he was told. He made sure to double check that the door was locked once he got inside, and closed the toilet lid. He tried to ignore the stench from the previous visitor. ‘This place is oh so romantic,’ he said sarcastically, more to himself than to Bond to cover up the fact that he was nervous — and horny as fuck.

 _‘Don’t be so dramatic.’_ A pause, then, _‘Unzip your trousers.’_

Q bit his lip as a guilty, nervous rush shot through his body that had nothing to do with how scared he was of getting caught. He closed his eyes and thought about all the other times Bond had told him how to touch himself, telling him exactly what he was or wasn’t allowed to do. Usually, Bond would only watch. Sometimes he’d join in and finish the job. (That was always the best bit.) Then they’d curl up together on the sofa, and Q would watch how James lazily finished himself off. They were always too worn-out to clean up after.

_‘Q?’_

‘I don’t know if I’ll enjoy my next visit to the toilet in peace knowing that this place is filled with cameras.’ Q looked around him. The little black dot on a discoloured tile _could_ be a camera; he’d made cameras smaller than that himself. ‘This experiment has been ever so traumatising.’

Bond sighed. Q could see him roll his eyes in his mind’s eye. _‘I planted the cameras there myself. They’ll be gone by the time this is over. Or would you rather I had sent you to M’s office?’_

‘I imagine it would be more comfortable.’

_‘Get those trousers off, Q.’_

That was the second-best bit: making someone like James Bond _like_ him. Make him want him. Make him get off from seeing him.

For a moment, the thought made Q feel in control. He could easily decide to disobey James’s orders and make him wait. Hear the frustration in his voice until he begged Q to touch himself. He’d enjoy that so much, teasing James.

_‘Q. Trousers.’_

‘All right, all right, no need to get bossy.’

Q gave up looking for cameras. Slowly, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his zipper. He hoped Bond wouldn’t notice his trembling hands as he pushed his trousers to his ankles. His naked legs touched the door, and it felt cold. There were still carpet burns on his knees from the last time they did something like this.

 _‘Palm yourself through your boxers. There you go.’_ Q heard a button being popped in his ear. _‘Squeeze it for me. Excellent. Now get that cock out.’_

Q’s nerves were fading. Now that there was only James’s turned-on voice and his own hands to guide him to excellence, the road there felt even better than ever. (And the whole getting-caught aspect _was_ rather exhilarating, now that he thought about it. At the end of the day, there was something very exciting about doing things one shouldn’t.) His boxers joined his trousers on the floor, and he stepped out of them. The lower half of his body was now completely naked apart from his shoes. The sweater turned Bond on, so it could stay.

_‘You have an erection already,’ Bond deduced. ‘You’re a bad boy, Q.’_

Q chuckled at that. ‘ _You_ try having a vibrator inside of you without getting excited.’

_‘I’d love to. Will tomorrow suit you?’_

‘Mm. Twelve o’clock?’ Q’s eyes rolled into the back of his head when he gave his cock a long, slow stroke, his hands mimicking the soft flesh of a body he wanted to sink into. Bond’s.

_‘Touch yourself, Q, that’s it. Nice and slow.’_

When Q repeated the motion, Bond turned the toy back on. Q’s body snapped tense instantly, thighs starting to tremble. The toy’s soft buzzing sound was bloody obscene. Already, it was a sensory overload: Bond in his ear, spurring him on; his own, throbbing cock; the toy sending vibrations up his spine and numbing everything until all that remained was tantalizing pressure.

_‘How do you feel?’_

He was actually doing this. Touching himself in a toilet at MI6. With Bond watching. Bloody hell.

‘Like I’m about to be bloody caught with my trousers down.’

_‘I meant physically.’_

‘Hard, so hard,’ – He rubbed his thumb over the tip of his cock – ‘wet. Sensitive. I so wish it was you inside of me instead of that toy, James,’ Q whispered even though there was no one in the room to hear him. Legs still trembling, he had to place his free hand on the wall to his left so he wouldn’t fall over. Any time soon, he was going to pass out quite elegantly.

 _‘Mm. I suppose I could always come over and help. Then again, if we get caught together we’ll_ definitely _be dismissed,’_ Bond pointed out, his voice thick with arousal. _‘Or worse, people could think we’re sleeping together.’_

Q absently rubbed his arse against the door. ‘That sounds exhausting.’

_‘Being dismissed?’_

‘Sleeping with you.’

The smile in Bond’s chuckle was unmistakeable. ‘That’s not what you said last time.’

Q was smiling now too. ‘If I recall correctly I was gagged and blindfolded the last time we slept together.’

_‘Hm, yes. We didn’t do much talking, did we?’_

Q chuckled as if in fond remembrance. ‘Tell me what you want, James.’ Q let out a shaky breath when his fingers brushed a particularly sensitive spot. He repeated the motion, and it felt twice as good. ‘Please.’

Bond was silent for a moment as if this was something he hadn’t thought about. Then, _‘I want you to imagine that it’s_ me _pleasuring you when I ask you to pull out the toy in a moment._ Slowly _,’_ he emphasised when Q moved his left hand to his arse. _‘This doesn’t have to be quick.’_

Q looked in the general direction of where he thought the camera was. ‘I don’t have to remind you that I have been absent from my meeting with the Committee for well over ten minutes? I imagine this rather complicates their meeting; I _was_ the only competent person there.’

 _‘Ah. Perhaps we should have thought this through_.’

‘Clearly.’

_‘Sit on the toilet seat.’_

‘Sorry?’

 _‘Sit down, Q,’_ Bond commanded, and Q did as he was told. The enjoyment of being ordered around was obvious in the smile that played on his lips.

The cubicle was small enough for Q to be able to spread his legs wide and let his feet rest on the door. It felt incredibly obscene, being sat in a public space like that half-naked. He’d probably have enjoyed it even more with his sweater in a mess on the floor, but he didn’t want to push his luck; Bond had a bizarre fondness for his sweaters. _‘Pull the toy out. Don’t rush it.’_

Q flinched when he pulled the toy out like he was told. He instantly missed the sensation of being filled.

 _‘Now put it back in. Slowly, that’s it,’_ – Q pushed the toy back in, stretching the sensitive skin around his entrance as he did so; it hurt and yet felt so good – _‘Imagine it’s_ me _fucking you. Slower. Yes, that’s better. Good boy. Push it in all the way. All the way, there you go.’_

A moan escaped Q’s lips. His cheeks coloured as he imagined the trouble he’d be in if someone heard him.

 _‘You look so good, Q. So good.’_ Bond sounded as if he had to restrain himself. From doing what, Q could only imagine. _‘We’re fucking on the bed, you and I . . . I have you bent over, hands tied on your back . . . I’m jerking you off at the same time, slow and tight . . .’_ – Q’s right hand returned to his cock; an orgasm was building in the pit of his stomach at the mere thought of being talked to like this; his legs, shaking — the thumping heartbeat in his ears damn nearly drowned out Bond’s words . . . _‘That’s how you like it, isn’t it, Q? You, at my mercy.’_

‘G-go on . . .’

_‘—I’m biting your ears and kissing your neck, and you beg me to fuck you even harder, so I do—’_

Q couldn’t stay quiet anymore. When he opened his mouth, a whimper came out. ‘Oh God, yes _._ ’

_‘I slap your arse and push you into the mattress and I come inside of you hard . . . You’re wet and dripping and still gagging for more . . .’_

Q’s jerks had quickened. He tilted back his head, and he saw stars. (And he may have . . . accidentally flushed the toilet.) He was no longer even aware of the toy he was absently playing with. ‘I’m so close, James,’ he moaned, those familiar high-pitched sounds music to Bond’s ears, ‘P-please . . .’

Q couldn’t see him, but he could hear that Bond was as turned on as he was: _‘—then I’ll flip you over and take you into my mouth until you’re screaming out my name . . . That’s what you want, isn’t it, Q? To come down my—’_

Bond’s words were nothing compared to Q moaning his name over and over.

The first time Q called Bond by his real name – James – they were making love in Q’s apartment.

Making love to James was nothing like how he had imagined it. It was gentle and sweet, passionate and soft, and Q couldn’t believe how much he’d enjoyed it after James came all over his stomach and kissed away the pain. It wasn’t even something they’d planned or really thought about; it just happened. One moment they were talking and laughing, and the next moment Q found himself unbuttoning Bond’s shirt like he wanted to do nothing more. He _did_ want to do nothing more, and the next day they did it again.

Their sessions fast became rougher, less discreet – like that time they made very enthusiastic use of the new desk in M’s office – but the outcome always felt the same; there wasn’t a time when Q didn’t feel like he was on cloud nine after spending time with Bond. With James. It felt thrilling and exciting and it always just felt so, so good.

Q arched his back, and he came in hot spurts over his brand new sweater.

It was a marvellous feeling, and an even better spectacle.

That is, it was for Bond — Q was less pleased once he had come down the high of his orgasm and saw the mess he’d made: ‘Oh good, now I’m going to have to explain to the members of the Committee why I have a stain on my sweater,’ he said sarcastically before scooping up some of the cum with his already wet fingers. Bond nearly had a damn heart attack at the sight.

_‘So you enjoyed that, then?’_

‘Couldn’t you tell, 007?’

Bond chuckled. Q could hear the smugness in his voice. _‘You could always just not come back. Say something else came up.’_ He sounded horny. So, so horny.

Q pushed up his glasses. ‘What do you propose?’ Still fearing getting caught, he got dressed. His hands and legs were still shaking, so it took a long time. He nearly put his boxers on the wrong way round. When he opened the door of the cubicle, he was greeted by a redder, sweatier version of himself in the mirror. He washed his hands in the sink and ran his fingers through his hair and shrugged as if to say, ‘That’ll do.’ 

_‘Tell them that I stole one of your inventions and that you had to go and tell me off for being such a prick. That’s what you usually do, isn’t it?’_

This was new: James actually sounded desperate. They’d just had what was essentially a slightly more updated version of phone sex, and James still sounded like he needed _more_. James _never_ begged for more.

Q got an idea. ‘Remind me, 007, did we not agree that you would refrain from climaxing until I saw you again?’

_‘We did.’_

Q smiled at himself in the mirror and took out his earpiece. ‘Then I think I might go back to my meeting after all,’ he said before removing the miniscule microphone off his sweater. He let both objects be flushed into the sink. ‘Thank you, 007, and good luck,’ he said to his own reflection. ‘It’s been ever so pleasant.’

‘Q. _Q_ , get back here,’ a very turned-on Bond pointlessly said into his microphone as he watched Q leave. ‘Dammit, Q.’

(Unfortunately for Q, it had slipped his mind that Bond was still very much in charge of the toy inside of him.)


End file.
